


River

by leobrat



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leobrat/pseuds/leobrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no winter in Seattle...</p>
            </blockquote>





	River

**Author's Note:**

> This was written post 5.10 (All By Myself), before much was known about Owen's story before coming to Seattle Grace.

There is no winter in Seattle. It's just colder rain that leaves you damp even after you get inside and bundled into fleecey sweats with a cup of hot coffee (or a whiskey). There is no winter, not the way it really should be, anyway.

He was ten when he came to Seattle, with his mom. Well, nine-and-three-quarters, really, but close enough. His American mom who didn't have any love for Scotland once his dad passed away, and wanted to be around her own parents, her own sisters, rather than constantly be reminded of what was lost from his dad's family. From the start, he'd never fit in in the U.S. He lost his brogue early on, well before his voice changed from squeaking tenor to the low baritone he now had, but he'd been made fun of so brutally in the beginning that even in high school, he was called _William Wallace_. He didn't understand any American sports, and while he later learned to love basketball, he was never good enough to make his school's team. And a boy who was perpetually red-haired, pale and freckled never had the best luck with girls.

And he dearly missed seasons- warm sun in the summertime, blooming flowers in the spring, and somehow, oddly enough, deep, thick snows over the winter. Especially over Christmas. Being bundled inside with woven afghans knitted by his granny and piping hot tea. Snowfights with his cousins. Ice-skating on the stream near his old house. His mom once said to him, trying to laugh him out of his loneliness that nobody loved winter, and wasn't he glad to be free of the freezing winds, of shoveling snow. But he wasn't. Owen Hunt loved winter.

But there was no winter in Seattle.

That's why he left Seattle, as soon as he was old enough. University at UPENN and medical school at Tufts. He learned to really love New England, especially its gorgeous, golden autumn- and the seafood wasn't bad either. He missed his mom, of course, they were all each other had for a long time, but she remarried shortly before he graduated high school, and while his stepdad was a nice enough guy (and he was great to Owen's mom, which was all he really cared about), they never really grew to be comfortable with each other- familial. Probably because neither one had put any real effort in getting to know one another. But even so, Owen knew his mom was taken care of, and he was free to roam- to travel, to 'find himself' (that stupid term that was so popular when he was in his twenties).

The one problem was that he didn't have a cent to his name- his dad hadn't left them much, and Mom had given all she had to help him get through school. And still the loans were extensive, almost unfathomable. Joining the army had seemed like a good way to travel and to seriously save up some good bank to pay off his loans. It was all a great idea in 2000, before going off to war seemed as likely as going to the moon. Owen Hunt became a soldier, and it fit him in a way that nothing ever had, in his entire life.

And then, boy did he travel. To places where 'snow' and winter were as foreign as the languages he heard around him, and seeing camels crossing main streets right next to seventies model cars.

To Afghanistan and back. To Iraq (twice) and back. To Nigeria and the Sudan and back. And then- inevitably- back to Iraq. For the last time.

But before that, he went back to Seattle one more time to visit his mother.

And there, he pulled an icicle out of a woman.

Oddly enough, the first honest-to-goodness snowstorm he experienced was on that fateful night he entered Seattle Grace Hospital for the first time as an adult. He'd taken a couple of trips down there for well check-ups and whatnot as a kid, but seeing it for the first time as a physician, he had to admit, was pretty impressive. The nearly sparkling clean emergency room. The state-of-the-art technology and the endless supply of accessible medicine. The (seemingly) hundreds of doctors, each one more qualified and capable than the next, all clamoring to help, jump in, save a life, do their best for a patient. And coming from the sand pit, where he was the only person for miles and miles around that could clean up cuts and scrapes, treat malaria, and cut off a man's leg (without the benefit of any numbing anesthesia), Seattle Grace and its bright lights seemed…luxurious.

So, it was a very attractive offer that Dr. Webber made to him, that fateful night that he'd stuck a ballpoint pen in a man's neck to help him breathe and (quite impressively) stapled his own laceration. Stay in Seattle, practice medicine like he lived in the twenty-first century, spend more time with his mom (and, admittedly his stepdad wasn't so bad once they got to know each other, either). And, of course, there was that icicle to marinate on, as well….

But that was not who Owen Hunt was, he was a soldier. He had a duty to perform, he had comrades who depended on him. He graciously thanked Dr. Webber and declined his offer, but couldn't resist one moment with the woman.

"You took my icicle!" she had gasped, more out of shock than pain. There was really something to Cristina Yang- almost a sword tip sharp intelligence, prickly tough exterior, and hot. Brutally hot, in the most distracting way. Sure, Owen had had his share of women, but he'd never really been the horndog type. He'd nearly had his tongue wagging from the first he'd seen her. And he'd kissed her that night, warm and sweet and the promise of so, so much more.

And then he'd left. And gone back to his duty.

And within two weeks, Owen had finally seen his last share of blood and guts and hopeless death that he could do nothing to fix.

Owen Hunt was broken.

And he made his way back to Seattle (because even with the never-ending rain, he needed some semblance of home to cling to) and humbly asked Dr. Webber if his offer still stood, and joined the ranks of Seattle Grace's attendings, and quickly learned what came along with all of that wonderful modern medicine and state of the art technology. Egos. Entitlement. And even Cristina Yang managed to surprise him again- she had many sides to her, but the overwhelming one that she showed to the world was a woman who was all brains, and no heart. Which was fine. He felt as though his own heart was buried deep in the desert, a world away.

At first, at least. The parts that she kept more private were so profoundly soulful and warm, he felt humbled when she first revealed herself to him.

And somehow, seeing that change in her, was one of the hardest things to bear. Because she was making him feel again, and he was afraid that if he started to…he was afraid.

She made him wish for nothing more than to sit beside her, and wish for winter.


End file.
